


At Your Side

by Nillegible



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluffy!, Ghost!Tobirama, Inspired by Art, M/M, Madara is in love with a Ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nillegible/pseuds/Nillegible
Summary: In the Slight Miscalculation verse:It's a long walk to the restaurant Hashirama has decided to hold his daughter's birthday celebration at, and Madara gets a bit distracted along the way. Because walking beside Senju Tobirama (dead or alive) is a bit hard when you're head over heels for him and in denial about it.





	At Your Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amihan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amihan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Slight Miscalculation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234016) by [Nillegible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nillegible/pseuds/Nillegible). 



> This work is a gift for amihan, who drew a really gorgeous picture of Madara and Ghost-Tobirama at:
> 
> https://its-amihan.tumblr.com/post/176508587929/madatobiweek-day-04-yokaigodsmonsters-the
> 
> The picture was inspired by Slight Miscalculation, and while I don't think I can write it into my story properly, I really wanted to thank her somehow, so this is a stand-alone (that makes no sense if you haven't read Slight Miscalculation, sorry!) about one of the possible versions of what could have happened before and after the moment she chose to depict. 
> 
> Thank you so much!

They’re walking side by side, close enough that if Tobirama was just… If he was really _here_ then Madara might be able to feel the tingle of his chakra. Maybe his sleeve would catch on Tobirama’s fingers when his arm swung a little too close. Maybe their arms would brush if they just accidentally stepped even a little bit closer…

But the other man, for all that he looks so solid and present as he strides along beside Madara, is intangible. Something Madara and Tobirama have both tested independently and together, again and again, and again. Even as they walk, Tobirama fails to notice a fallen branch and steps through it, instead of tripping undignified as any living person would have.

Madara glances up at the profile of the other man’s face, bright red eyes staring forward, focused on something that Madara can’t fathom. It’s a handsome profile, something he’s never acknowledged during the violent battles and spewing hatred of their families’ feud. Ever since the peace though… ever since Tobirama had become visible only to him, since circumstances conspired to force them to work together… It’s becoming harder to ignore that the sharpness in Tobirama’s face, the almost violently red eyes and the markings on his face, somehow come together to form a man of striking beauty.

Madara has found that he desires his company more and more each day, growing to resent other shinobi who waste too much of his Madara’s time because it prevents him from conversing with the invisible man. The man he can privately admit has grown into the closest of friends.

It aches, sometimes, having him so close and yet so unreachable. He thinks this must be his punishment for his thoughtlessness; his sudden uncalled-for violence had taken the one thing he hadn’t even known he would one day come to cherish, and placed it permanently beyond his grasp. The scant few inches that separate them are a lie. A chasm as deep and unknown as death separates them, a death brought about by the same hand that swings so close to Tobirama’s side.

They’re still quite a distance away from Hashirama’s chosen restaurant when Madara lets himself do something ridiculous. Tobirama wouldn’t notice, he’s looking ahead, and when he does speak the conversation switches topics rapidly as he mentions whatever is on his mind. It’s obvious that Madara and his actions are not one of those things.

Casually, trying so hard not to give anything away, Madara slips even closer to Tobirama’s side. Close enough that the man’s pale arm slides through his, Madara’s fingers disappearing behind Tobirama’s.

He lets himself steal a glance at their hands, and it looks, it looks _so much_ like they’re holding hands that he has to tear himself away from the sight before it crushes his heart.

Madara can’t bring himself to pull his arm away though, letting his eyes wander to the apparently joined fingers once or twice a minute, relishing in the appearance of a closeness that the cold emptiness of his hands, his bare palm, and lonely fingers remind him is a _lie. lie. lie._ with every step that they take.

“Madara,” says Tobirama suddenly, and he looks up to see him staring straight into his eyes. Madara’s fingers twitch. Should he pull away, or would that just catch the attention of this genius shinobi? Should he leave his hand _there,_ and risk Tobirama witnessing the moment of vanity?

“We crossed the restaurant a few minutes ago,” he says quietly. Madara flushes, because he hadn’t noticed. “Hikaku saw you walk by, he’ll be by to see what happened to you in a minute. So you’ll have to hurry.” Tobirama’s eyes are filled with something. He can’t describe it in any way but _focus._ Unnatural, intense focus.

“Hurry?” he asks, and why is his voice so raspy all of a sudden. A pale eyebrow rises in response and he pointedly eyes the hands, still joined together. Madara pulls his away, but the damage is done. Tobirama had noticed, and he was such a fool for letting this happen, should have kept himself in check.

“Forgive me, please. It was a moment of weakness. It will not happen again,” he says, bowing. It was beyond unforgivable for him to take such liberties (he hadn’t even gotten to _touch_ him. It was _Madara’s fault that there wasn’t a Tobirama_ alive _to touch)._ It’s a good thing there’s no one around to witness him bowing to empty air, he thinks, before he straightens up. Tobirama looks contemplative.

“If I demand you allow me to indulge one of my own… weaknesses as recompense, would you let me?” he asks. There’s no telling what he wants, only a distinctly feline curiosity in his unblinking stare. Madara, helpless in the face of it, whispers, “Of course.”

Tobirama takes a single step closer and raises a hand. Near cheek level. Did he want to play at slapping Madara? He wants to protest that he didn’t actually do anything to Tobirama, doesn’t deserve this. He had just walked a little too close! He wants to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness. He had tossed him aside like a limp doll, ignored where he fell in favor of his brother on the ground. If Madara had even offered him the courtesy of turning around, the moment of Tobirama’s death would be burned into his memory. All Madara has of that moment, the last chance he had to see the man _alive (broken though, you broke him Madara, why)_ was the dawning horror on Izuna’s face before he sat up and tugged him away.

The pale hand hovers beside his cheek and then it slips back. He can’t feel anything but a sharp tingle as his brain seeks the sensation of touch on his scalp that doesn’t happen. “Is it as soft as it looks?” asks Tobirama, and Madara freezes. “It does look quite soft,” and it’s a wistful observation. The look in his eyes has softened.

“It is,” Madara says quietly. The hand is retracted, a small impish smile on Tobirama’s face. “Hikaku is approaching. I hope you have a good excuse prepared for why you just walked past the entire group waiting for you.”

When Madara fails to collect his wits quickly enough to placate his cousin, and is dragged back by the grumbling young man, he catches the smirk on Tobirama’s face. Turning to head inside the restaurant (to be greeted by _more_ people despairing over his thoughtlessness) he misses one simple gesture that Tobirama makes before he follows him.\

 

* * *

 

Before he follows after Madara, Tobirama pauses. The door swings shut, and he takes a moment to rub the fingers of his right hand together. _I must have imagined it,_ he thinks. _There is no way._

He hadn’t felt anything but longing as his fingers slid through Madara’s hair. But earlier, when Madara had carefully slipped his hand into his? Tobirama had felt the warmth of careful solid fingers, curling around his.

 _Requires thorough experimentation,_ he thinks, as he slips through the closed door and into the restaurant his family was gathered at. 

**Author's Note:**

> amihan, I hope you liked it! I didn't ask you for permission before posting, and I really hope you don't mind. Thanks again for sharing your picture!
> 
> (If anyone is worried about the sudden inexplicable touching, then don't worry, this is an AU of my other AU since this will never happen in the real one. I'm trying not to go all hand-wavy with that one, but for the purposes of this one-shot, I thought it would be kinder to let them feel it.)
> 
> Please do comment, if you have a moment! I love hearing from you.


End file.
